nine2five 2,16 Serpent's Tooth
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: Chuck and Sarah need to find the Norseman, but the only person who can tell them where it is no longer exists.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **Family Volkoff has a decent plot, so if I'm lucky, I'll be able to use just this one canon episode as the basis for this rewrite. All these fractured episodes are hard to piece together. I wish I could have used the buddy-breakfast scene, though. Morgan and Casey had the funniest relationship in the show.

* * *

><p>"<em>The criminal world is the more honest world." <em>

"_Not for him." _

"_A misplaced devotion." _

"_You all work for me."_

* * *

><p>Mary Bartowski sat alone in the back of the plane. Up front, her son, his wife, his team, were all counting Chinese bills in various denominations, using Chuck's calculating abilities to estimate the haul from their latest venture. The money hadn't been the goal, or course, just a by-product of a glorified con job in the name of national security. She looked at her daughter-in-law, daughter of a con man, busily collating the bills in proper bundles, industrious but not happy. This one struck a little too close to home, perhaps.<p>

Sarah and Carina had spent the first several hours of their multi-hour flight rehashing their friend's wedding at great length, tedious length to the boys, but hey, they were boys. Carina may have been a breaker at heart, but she had some frustrated dreams of her own, if her attention to Sarah's every word was any indication. Mary eavesdropped shamelessly, of course, and she gathered from Sarah's tone at the time that she didn't exactly approve of her father's lifestyle, even when the skills it required were used in her favor. Just as Sarah was using some of those same skills now, counting the take.

Mary thought about her own wedding, extremely normal. It was the marriage that had taken a few bizarre turns, and having heard about her children's own stories, she couldn't help but wonder if it was all their doing somehow. Even the so-called Mr. and Mrs. Awesome hadn't been awesome enough to craft a wedding that could withstand her family's little…trouble.

Poor Ellie. But it all worked out, in the end. Everyone got their perfect wedding, from the sound of it, even this Hannah person, and Sarah's father got to dance with his daughter, conning himself for a little while. Until the job called her away, as it usually did.

A proper mother-in-law ought to go over there and offer some support to a troubled family member, but Mary stayed in the back. She had two million of her own problems to worry about, and she worried about them, fingers drumming on the cheap plastic of the cheap case the bank had given her. Ill-gotten gains made by a lie, and given to the liar, not that she was solely responsible for what Hartley had become. Volkoff's devotion to her had its roots in Hartley's own…what? Did Hartley love her too, in some way? Was Volkoff's obsession with the Bartowski name a corrupted echo of his original self's interest?

Not something she wanted to think about right now, she'd been away from her husband for far too long. His interest was far more appealing to her, but he had yet to reveal it. Not that she'd given him much of a chance, pressed into a mission in Macau after less than a day out of the facility. The mission suited her, too, not alone, not in charge, little more than an asset. Much more relaxing than those empty days in the facility, except for her son's abominable taste in code names.

The last thing she heard was the sound of her own voice, speaking in her head. _I'm so tired._

* * *

><p>Chuck heard the noise over the sound of the plane, over the sound of Carina and Casey celebrating their success, over the sound of Sarah shuffling, bundling, and banding the stacks of bills like some kind of machine. His mother snored.<p>

He stood up and walked down to that end of the plane, snagging a blanket from an overhead compartment. As he fluffed it out, Sarah came up and embraced him from behind. "She looks so peaceful," she said.

"Yup," said Chuck.

"Should I move the case?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to chance it. Doc said she needed to relax, so, let her relax." He drew the blanket over his mother's sleeping form and stepped back.

Together they turned and watched their friends' antics, Casey pretending to light a cigar with a hundred yuan note, all of about sixteen dollars worth. Chuck wasn't about to make the fact more obvious than he already had. "You think they'll miss us?" he whispered in his wife's ear.

"Let them," she whispered back.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, Casey made his way aft, having lost the coin toss. He'd expected Miller to jump at the opportunity, but she was strangely reluctant to mess with the happy couple's face time. The doors on these planes were pretty flimsy, so he tried to tone it down a bit, knocking firmly rather than pounding on it as he usually did. "Rise and shine, Bartow –oh, crap." Too hard. He slapped a hand over his eyes as the door opened.<p>

"What's up, Casey?" asked Chuck in a casual tone.

Casey risked a peek at a very small part of the room. Bartowski male was sitting at the end of the bed, fully dressed. A pair of feminine feet were by his thighs, facing the wrong way. Tracing them down, he found the wife. Bartowski female also sat on the bed, but at the other end, her legs intertwined with her husband's but otherwise not touching. They each had computers on their laps, and they were tapping away quietly, with only occasional strokes of their bare feet against their partner's legs. Intimate without being in any way graphic, it caught the NSA man off guard. "Um…"

"We're Federal agents, Casey," said Sarah with a smile in her voice, "Not dire wolves in heat." She looked up at Chuck in concern. "That _is_ what they're called, right? Dire wolves?"

Chuck just stared, his report forgotten. "You are just so sexy right now…"

"Put a lid on it, Bartowski," snapped Casey, now that they were back on familiar ground. "The General wants a briefing in fifteen, so get ready."

Chuck's fingers moved at machine gun speed. "I'm done," he said.

"You cheated!" yelled Sarah.

"I did not, I just…creatively accomplished, that's all."

"Oh yeah?" said Sarah. "Let's see how much you 'creatively accomplish' from the couch tonight."

"You're right," said Chuck instantly. "I cheated, I apologize, and throw myself upon the mercy of the court."

"Let me guess," said Casey, wincing in advance. "You're 'creatively merciful'?"

She got an odd smile on her face. "Merciful, yes, but I leave the creativity to…"

"Oh, God," groaned Casey, and he slammed the door, too late to save his ears.

* * *

><p>"Good morning, team," said the General, without the facial expression one normally associates with that greeting. "Congratulations on a successful operation."<p>

Everyone on Team B looked at everyone _else_ on Team B. "Uh, thank you, General," said Chuck. "But how did you–?"

"My British counterpart also extends his congratulations," said the General right over him. "Especially considering the speed with which _our_ operation was laid on, as opposed to the many months his team spent laying the groundwork for theirs."

Casey summarized his team's collective remorse. "Oops."

"Not a sentiment I cared to express, Colonel Casey, with the President on the line."

"And how are their two agents, General?" asked Chuck. "The ones we extracted from the site."

"You have their gratitude."

"Well, that's something, right?"

"It is, Mr. Bartowski, but only because Manoosh was able to provide evidence that their operation had been detected and would have been blown, had it continued much beyond your interruption. As a result, they have decided to let the matter drop, in exchange for the cash you took away with you, to cover their expenses."

"Fine."

"I'm so glad you approve." She didn't look glad. "However, that wasn't the purpose of their call, just a less-than-pleasant sidebar." Her voice became more brisk. "Analysis of the methods used to extract Hartley Winterbottom from the hands of SIS indicates that Vivian's team used ordnance manufactured by Volkoff Industries to do it. Those munitions could only have been supplied by Vivian herself."

"We knew she would be taking over, General," said Casey, who added grudgingly, "And the weapons used were non-lethal."

"Yes, we did," said Beckman. "Although we had hoped her control would lead the company in a more legitimate direction. That isn't the troubling part, however. Lacking both Hannah and Chuck, I put Manoosh and Ellie onto the task of evaluating our previous theories regarding Alexei Volkoff's actions, in light of Vivian's possible involvement."

Carina remembered Boris, flying backward in a spray of gore as Vivian shot him point-blank with a shotgun. No doubt she would act if she felt threatened. "Damian?"

"Very good, Agent Miller. There was no legitimate reason why Alexei would bomb a CIA base, just to kill Sarah. Agent Frost's testimony reveals a pattern of similar actions. In light of this, Langley has issued a termination order on Vivian Volkoff."

"What?" said Chuck.

"_Langley_ is entirely too quick with their damn termination orders, if you ask me," said Casey. "Re-analysis isn't evidence. We don't even know why Vivian would want to kill Sarah."

"I do," said Sarah, squeezing Chuck's hand.

"That's as may be, Colonel, but non-domestic threats are their playground, not ours." Not that a little detail like that ever stopped anyone.

"Then we make it ours. Bring her in-country, then we take her down legally. At the very least let her make her case."

No, he wasn't going to give this up. Not after the last time. "How do you propose we do that, Colonel?"

"We have your theory, General. If it's right, then we have what she wants." Casey spread his arms, indicating Chuck and Sarah. "We let them get the evidence we need."

"You want us to be bait, Casey?" asked Chuck.

"It's either that or a bullet, Bartowski."

Just like killing her himself. "Well, gee, when you put it that way, how can we refuse?"

"We can't," said Sarah. "Why do you think he put it that way?"

Casey clapped Chuck comradely on the shoulder. "Worry about her, don't worry about you. She gets frisky, I'll take her down regardless."

* * *

><p>Mary slept the whole way to DC, and Chuck was beginning to worry, but she seemed to wake up easily enough when they touched down for the last time. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Mom?" he asked as they left the plane at long last. Still dark. Was it last night, or tomorrow morning?<p>

No matter. It was broad daylight in Vivian's part of the world, and they had lots to do before any of them would be allowed to sleep. Termination orders are always easier to start than they were to stop. Better to just move the target, who would want some control over where they were moving to. A possibly fatal hesitation that they had to sidestep. Hopefully she still had enough faith in Chuck to step with them.

Frost had seen enough of that dance. Twenty years. Business meetings. Strategy sessions. Endless little chores, messes to clean up. "No," she said. "I have a husband to track down, so you'll excuse me while I start tracking." She tilted her head up into air, smelling the breeze. "This way."

Chuck and Sarah watched her go. Or rather, Chuck watched her go, while Sarah watched her man. "This way?" she said. "You're letting your traumatized mother walk away from her family with 'this way' as her flight plan?"

"What do you mean?" said Chuck. "The car rental agency _is_ that way."

* * *

><p>Chuck looked around. Dust, hills, and dirt roads, a terrible choice in almost every respect, from the visiting team's perspective, yet the visiting team had chosen it. A wide-open field of fire for snipers no one would be able to see. Casey was ecstatic. The favorability of the conditions for his team spoke volumes about Vivian's inexperience.<p>

A cloud of dust rose over a ridge, early warning for the vehicle that came into view as the road curled around the little hill. Vivian preferred her protectors in large numbers, and a little closer to hand.

Chuck and Sarah stood in front of their own much smaller car, as a horde of men in black emerged from the SUV, taking positions around a woman in gold. Sarah took a more forward position as she always did, her hand on her gun but her gun behind her back, the only concession she was prepared to make to the 'peaceful' nature of the meeting.

Vivian walked within speaking distance. "Agent Charles," she said, her voice dripping with scorn. She ignored Sarah completely.

"You know that's not who I am," said Chuck.

"If I was going by what I _knew_ about you, Agent Charles, I wouldn't be here at all. You wanted to meet me, here in the middle of nowhere, and here I am. What do you want?"

"To save your life," said Chuck. "The CIA has a kill order on you, for your role in the bombing of one of our bases, the murders of two agents and conspiracy to kill a third."

Vivian gasped, her façade of angry power apparently shattered. "I've done no such thing. I've only been in charge for a few days."

Sarah knew better. "An order from you would have been obeyed."

Vivian finally looked at Sarah. "I gave no orders! I'll give you every piece of documentation I have, every letter, every note for the last three months. I've nothing to deserve this. Please, you've got to believe me."

"Why?" asked Sarah. "You set me up to be killed by a group of freaks."

"I didn't," said Vivian. "Father created the mission. I merely said that killing Gilles, however worthy, was a waste of your abilities, that you could do as easily for a dozen what you were supposed to do for one. I was _admiring_ you."

Blaming it on daddy, when he wasn't here to defend himself. "And all the threats later?"

"You were unstable, dangerous."

That bit of honesty got through. Try as she might, Sarah couldn't really fault Vivian for urging that a mad dog be put down, even when the mad dog was herself. _Especially _when the mad dog was herself. She thought about the thing she had been then and trembled inside.

"Wait a minute," said Chuck. "How many months of documentation did you say you have?"

For a second, Vivian just stood there, getting her thoughts back on track. "Three months. A bit more, maybe, I don't recall the exact day I arrived in Moscow."

"Who cares?" asked Sarah. "That sort of thing wouldn't be written down."

"No, but Castle was blown up closer to four months ago," said Chuck.

"I was in England four months ago," said Vivian. "An ignorant girl on a horse. After what happened, what _almost_ happened, I decided to educate myself." _Wherever I wanted to go, whatever I wanted to be._

"Bang-up job," said Chuck, deadpan.

Vivian's face firmed, hardened into a mask. "As a guest in your beautiful country, I brought a gift, as is customary, to thank you for your hospitality. Instead, it appears I'll have to use it now to bargain for my life. So be it." She snapped her fingers, and a lackey brought a white Volkoff case to the front, and Vivian stepped forward and opened it herself.

Chuck looked at the contents, which appeared to be a grip, and the frame for some kind of gun, but without any of the usual gun parts. "What is it?"

"A piece of a weapon called the Norseman, one of my father's deadliest weapons, and that's all I can tell you about it. Without Hydra, I have no other information, but without Hydra I'm quite busy enough with my legitimate enterprises, thank you. I'm fully prepared to hand this puzzle over to you." She took a step back.

A shot rang out, and the bearer of the case fell, suddenly headless. Vivian froze, in the sudden awareness of the nearness of her own death. Her bodyguards moved, as other shots rang out, and she heard their grunts of pain as they took the bullets aimed at her. "You set me up! You bastard!"

Sarah moved too, pushing Chuck back behind their vehicle, even though no shots were aimed at them. "No, no no no," he yelled over the noise. "Casey, what's going on?"

"It's not us, it's not us," said the voice in his ear, furious that someone was trespassing in his kill zone. "We can't spot the shooter."

Vivian wasn't on their system. "I trusted you!" she screamed through the broken window, and the SUV she came in reversed at high speed, bumping slightly, horribly, over the bodies of her own fallen men as the live ones did their jobs.

* * *

><p>"Did you find the shooter, Colonel?" asked Beckman, hours after the fiasco had been thoroughly investigated, recorded, and buried.<p>

"After a fashion," said Casey unhappily. "We found his blind first, and from there we could pick up his trail, some sort of deer run. He'd bugged out long since. Probably there all night with his vehicle under cover, otherwise we would have spotted it."

"So he got away?"

Casey shook his head. "Didn't say that. We found the vehicle and the driver in a ravine. So, probably not CIA."

"Gee, thanks, Casey," said Chuck.

"Don't mention it. We can bring the wreck in for analysis, but I doubt it'll tell us anything. This is a classic cutout situation, ma'am."

"We'll investigate with all due diligence, Colonel, but that's not your concern any longer. This Norseman device is. What, if anything, do we know about it?"

"Nothing, General," said Chuck. "There's nothing about it in the Intersect."

"That's not helpful, Chuck," said Beckman. "If you want me to push for a recall of the kill order, you have to give me something to do it with."

"General, what about the timing?" asked Sarah. "Vivian says she wasn't anywhere near Moscow when Castle was bombed. MI-5 should be able to verify her claim."

"An appeal to the British authorities is hardly likely to be met with swift action, Sarah." More likely the opposite.

"Then make that work for us," said Chuck. "If we can't get the order rescinded, we can at least get it put on hold, pending their action, and while they're doing that–"

Generals need to be patient with their enemies. With their subordinates, not so much. "Yes? While they're doing that, what?"

"While they're doing that, we go to the only source we have, for intel about the Norseman."

Beckman frowned at him. "You assured me that Alexei Volkoff no longer existed."

"I'm not talking about Volkoff, General," said Chuck. "We need to get into Hydra."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2 **Oh, no! Is Chuck falling into Vivian's trap again?

In this version, Casey's a bit sensitive on the subject of termination orders. Sarah has picked up a bit more of Chuck's nerdiness, at least with regard to fantastic fauna. And Orion is still alive, so his wife has a new goal. She'll be back, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **The sniper attack on Vivian was never really explained in canon. I always thought it was staged by Riley, to prevent Vivian from getting too close to Chuck and Sarah again. In this version I have a different purpose.

* * *

><p>"<em>Let them." <em>

"_This way." _

"_Bang-up job." _

"_We need to get into Hydra."_

* * *

><p>The briefing, continued…<p>

"How do you plan to do that, Bartowski?" asked Casey. "The Brits have been trying for weeks now to crack that damned machine."

"Not true, Casey," said Chuck. "They've been trying to crack _Hartley_. They haven't even tried to get past the HMI yet."

"Same thing, isn't it, Chuckles?"

"Only if you believe that Volkoff's voiceprint is the only way to get into Hydra, which the British apparently do."

"And you don't?"

"Let's just say I'm keeping an open mind."

"That's just how I–" Carina froze. "Nope. Not gonna say it."

"Let's just say you're planning to keep your team properly briefed every step of the way," growled Casey right over her muttered background noise.

"I'm sure he's planning to, Colonel, " said Beckman, "But as it turns out, _I_ have the most recent update."

Commanders bringing briefing materials to the table is never a good thing. Junior officers knew it, but somehow when they became commanders themselves, they seemed to forget. "Ma'am?"

* * *

><p>Somewhere not in America (and no, I'm not going to tell you where)…<p>

Riley met Vivian at the airport. "What's the latest? she asked.

"The attack went well," said Riley, gesturing an underling to take her bag. "Federal agents have been crawling over the incident site for hours. They found Gustav."

Damn. He was her most reliable shooter. "So soon?"

Riley snorted in contempt. "He was so concerned about escaping the Americans that he drove his stolen car off a cliff." The fool.

"Remind me to release his payout to his widow." Vivian may have liked Gustav and respected his abilities, but she wasn't about to put herself in his crosshairs without something to shield herself, in this case, a hefty sum of money that only she could unlock.

"Yes, Miss Volkoff."

"What about our objective?"

"One hundred percent successful, Miss Volkoff," said Riley. "In all the hullabaloo, he never even noticed the tracker go in. You've belled that cat."

"Only for a little while, Mr. Riley," said Vivian, striding briskly from the terminal. "We might evade his grasp once, perhaps twice, but Agent Charles will know that for what it is."

"I think you overestimate him, Vivian," said Riley. "He fell right into your last trap. The Special Forces of the world are spread thin, rounding up those who might have taken your rightful place."

That last little flourish may have a been a bit much. Vivian rounded on her chief retainer. "I think you are overestimating _me_, Mr. Riley," she snapped. "I did not 'trap' Agent Charles, I found a place where our interests aligned. Now that he's taken care of our enemies, he's the threat. When I do trap him he will know it, and he'll be on guard thereafter, so even if I succeed I'll only be able to do it once." She stepped back, and reduced her vehemence. "Hydra is the brain and Hartley is the heart of Volkoff Industries. If I do not take those two steps flawlessly and well, Mr. Riley, there will not be a third, I can promise you that. Now, where is my father?"

Riley, for once, had nothing to say.

"Well?"

* * *

><p>Back at the briefing…<p>

"What do you mean Hartley's coming here?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, Mr. Bartowski," said the General archly, making Chuck feel like he was, oh, about eight. "The story for public consumption–" 'public' being in this case those few people who weren't on the team, but still had high enough clearance to know about it on either side of The Pond "–will be a standard matter of separating the key from the lock, a plausible story after he was captured last week."

"Not a good week to be them," said Casey, with his characteristic tact.

"They couldn't have sent the Contessa instead?" asked Chuck.

Beckman leaned in close, hands clasped, and gave Chuck her full attention. This was not a good thing. "Mister Agent Bartowski, you are aware that, by blowing up the home of a peaceful country housewife, you have done damage to our relationship with our strongest ally that will take years to repair?"

He stared at his hands. "Yes, General."

"You are also aware that, because you cratered a long-laid operation with a more successful plan which you basically wrote on a sheet of toilet paper, the British Government has essentially PNGed you and your entire team for the remainder of this millennium?"

He bowed his head. "Yes, ma'am."

"Yet you seem to think that they would just casually hand over one of their most sensitive installations, a site we had to give them control over because of your team's actions, giving us the opportunity to interrogate the world's most advanced computer for data on what could be the world's most dangerous weapon, created by the world's greatest criminal mastermind."

Chuck cleared his throat. "Um…"

"Is that about right?"

"No? General?"

"How not?"

"It's not like I was going to tell them about the Norseman."

"I should hope not." Beckman sounded relieved. "Speaking of no good deed going unpunished, the story for private consumption is that he is being transferred into the custody of a team with a demonstrably higher success rate at operations of the same type."

"Bet _that_ stung," said Carina.

Beckman was used to ignoring Carina's snarky attitude. "The story for _internal_ consumption–"

"There's a third consumption?" asked Chuck.

"There is now," said Beckman, wishing not for the first time that Hannah was here, "That story is that Hartley has become deranged, unstable, and when this whole operation goes to hell they want it in our hands and not theirs."

_Something_ we _did_? "How…unstable?" asked Chuck. He remembered Hartley's mother, that 'peaceful country housewife', and wondered what 'deranged' could mean with such a parent.

Beckman pushed a button on her desk, and a new window opened up. "See for yourself, Mr. Bartowski." The secure wing at the CIA's main psychiatric facility had a new guest, manacled, chained, and currently being wheeled in. Even Juan looked a bit taken aback by the unusual precautions, and he received all the new cases.

Beckman's voice spoke over the video. "Langley is putting its kill order on hold for five days, Chuck. You have that long to verify that the device is everything Vivian said it was, and bring it back to Washington. For that time, Hartley is your asset, and your responsibility. Good luck."

Chuck was disappointed. Hartley Winterbottom was not the least bit unstable. Considering what he'd gone through, the world he found himself in, Hartley was doing a fine job adjusting to it all. Leo Dreyfus seemed to agree. The chains were all gone. Ellie, Casey and Carina were watching from the observation room, but only he, Chuck, and Sarah were participating in the interview.

* * *

><p>"Thirty years?" Hartley asked, staring at himself in the one-way mirror on the wall. For some reason they hadn't let him have a look at himself in England.<p>

Chuck looked at him curiously. "In total."

Hartley touched his face, his hair. "What does that mean?" He looked at Sarah.

She tried to find words for him. "It means…that the first upload was thirty years ago, but the Volkoff persona was only truly dominant for the last twenty. Or so."

He found no comfort in them, and turned. "Then why can't I remember anything? Those ten years, I should have something!"

"We don't know, Hartley," said Dr. Dreyfus. "The team at MI-5 reported you had some memories, before…"

"Before that woman kidnapped me," finished Hartley.

Dreyfus checked his notes. "Vivian."

"Yes. Vivian MacArthur, daughter of Jane MacArthur, such a beauty she was." For a second Hartley found refuge in memory, but he was back among them all too soon. "She told me she never knew her mother, that poor Jane had met a man who took what he wanted." Hartley shrank into his chair, his hands clenched in his hair. "Sometimes I dream of her, brushing my hair from my face. I hear her voice. She calls me 'Father', and 'Vivian' is a Winterbottom family name. Am I him? Was he me?" He looked up at them all, helpless anguish on his face. "_Am I that man?_"

Chuck remembered how he'd been told he'd won a bar fight he couldn't remember, and still didn't. Hartley was fine. It was the situation that was deranged.

"No, Hartley," said Leo firmly. "You are not that man."

Chuck was ever-so-thankful for Dreyfus' slow, calm, unruffled demeanor. He had a gravitas to him that could anchor a ward full of patients.

"You are a good man, caught up in a bad situation, brought about by a technology that we still don't adequately understand. Chuck here has had similar experiences, but he was not that man either."

Chuck smiled and tried to look sane.

"You and I will have to speak a great deal together about the Intersect and what it's done to you," said Dreyfus. "Chuck's current concerns are a little more immediate. We don't expect you to be able to answer his question, but we would be failing in our duty if we didn't ask."

"Go ahead," sighed Hartley. "Ask your question." Had to be better than what we was thinking about right now.

"We've received a piece of a weapon from a Volkoff armory," said Chuck, leaving Vivian's name out of it. "It's called the Norseman, and it's supposed to be highly potent, but we have no data on it, no idea what it does."

"The Norseman?" said Hartley, raising his head. He sounded confused, and Chuck's hopes dropped. "That's not a weapon, that's a DNA tracker."

Chuck's hopes rose again. "It's a what?"

"A DNA tracker. They were going to collect the DNA of all the world's black marketeers."

"And do what with it?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ask?"

"They didn't know either. They were presenting to the committee the same day we were, but they needed some ideas for possible uses of their technology. I made that up on the spot, while we were chatting in the hall. I figured anyone who'd fall for something like a Star Wars missile defense shield would fall for that."

Sarah imagined Casey's reaction, on the other side of the window, and couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice entirely. "You what?"

Hartley looked a bit sheepish. "Remember, it was the 80s, all you needed were a few words and a pretty picture." He shook his head. "I wonder how it went for them."

'Not well', thought Chuck, but he wasn't going to say that to Hartley. _They met a man who took what he wanted. _"I don't suppose you'd recognize any of it?" he asked, without much hope.

Hartley shrugged. "I might. They showed me the picture."

* * *

><p>"Vivian's claims have been verified, General," said Chuck a few hours later, in the lab. "Hartley recognized the piece she gave us, and from the comments he made, we were able to track the original development documents. The Norseman was originally just a DNA tracker, a sensor device, but the developers never finished the work, and their funding wasn't renewed, that's why it never showed up."<p>

"Do you know what happened to the developers?"

Chuck shook his head. "I expect Volkoff happened to them, one way or another."

"Dead, or new identities in Russia," said Casey. "I vote for dead."

Beckman wrote them off, a problem for some other decade. "And the device?" No way she would say 'Norseman' aloud if she didn't have to.

"Hartley remembered two other components, and the design specs support him." Chuck put the 'pretty pictures' up on the screen. "Casey's analysis of the physical design indicates numerous possibilities for weaponization, as does my analysis of the underlying software, if slight modifications were made."

"I would imagine those 'slight modifications' have been made long since," said Beckman. "Do we know what it does now?"

Carina raised her hand. "Kills people?"

"I'll take that as a 'no'," said Beckman. "What's your next step?"

"England, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Not England…<p>

They attacked in the dark of night, four figures clad in the latest stealth suits, who nonetheless crept towards the designated entrance as if the approach were in broad daylight with hundreds gathered. Two watched the outer approaches and a third checked the interior, as the fourth electronically overrode the locks. When the doors opened, the outer two became the inner two, securing the interior before the others would put themselves at risk. Not that there was much risk on the graveyard shift.

Guards returned from their scheduled walkabouts to find their partners unconscious or otherwise secured, and swiftly joined them. Visual feeds were looped onto themselves, showing only the same empty hall they'd already seen. With the chances of immediate discovery reduced below threshold, the team moved to phase two, securing their objective.

* * *

><p>England…<p>

The Contessa rode lightly at anchor, bereft of crew and cargo, only a guard contingent on board, and a light one at that. With Hartley out of the country the threat level of this site was reduced, the manpower assigned to it cut accordingly.

Four heads rose from the water around the ship. All of them carried their own launchers for their own grapples. "Let's hope this works, Bartowski," said Casey. "These are Royal Marines, not thugs on a boat."

Chuck unzipped his sleeve, peeling the material back to uncover his father's old wrist computer. "Everybody ready?" He pressed a key on the pad, sending a signal to his old laptop, already wired into the ship's systems. On the far side of the ship, a sensor went off, attracting the attention of all the guards on that side, and pulling the guards on this side off-station to cover the gap.

Four grapples fired as one, and retracting cables lifted the team smoothly to the main deck. They wasted no time arming themselves, not against the military of an allied nation. Instead they relied on stealth and speed, already knowing where they were going. On the far side of the ship, sensors tripped in sequence, as a virtual assault team clumsily approached the same goal, and the real guards gave chase.

Outside the Hydra room itself, Chuck dispatched Casey and Carina to make some trouble while he was busy and couldn't make it himself. With the guards on the outer door drawn off, he unlocked it remotely, and he and Sarah ran in even as the door opened.

* * *

><p>The other incursion, still not in England…<p>

At the inner door they repeated their formation as the electronics man picked the lock, a much more intensive process than at the outer door. Once past that obstacle, only a third door remained, with a simple mechanical lock, and the hacker yielded his place to the thief. Once the door opened they slipped into the room without a sound. The occupant was disabled without an alarm being raised, but still the man by the door signaled for utter stillness, and got it.

Outside the room, someone walked past, whistling, and they listened as the sound trailed away to the far door.

At last the leader clenched his fist, and two of his fellows raised the man they'd just tranqed to their shoulders. Time to go. The leader opened the door and stepped out.

Something hit him in the face, and his foot slipped on the slick floor. His head hit the floor with a crack and he was done.

The thief, right behind his leader, tried to back away, but the two carrying the unconscious man pushed forward. The attacker lunged, catching the thief in the solar plexus, stopping his breathing.

The attacker stepped over the dying thief without pause, snapping his staff in two. Burdened with the unconscious man, the last two interlopers were no match more the attacker's lightning fast strikes and dodges. By the time it occurred to them to drop their burden they were barely able to move. The attacker grabbed the unconscious man as he fell. With his other hand he hooked the end of his stick around one operative's neck and pulled him down onto the other operative. With only one stick but his targets down, the attacker finished them off with ease.

* * *

><p>On board the Contessa…<p>

Sarah stayed by the door, stethoscope in hand. Chuck went to Hydra. "Agent Bartowski zero-zero-two."

"Hibernation mode terminated," said the HMI. "Please identify yourself for access."

Chuck leaned close to the speaker, but he looked at Sarah the entire time. "This looks like a job for the Piranha," he said with great melodramatic gusto.

Sarah smiled, shaking her head. What a nerd she'd married.

"Welcome, Agent Piranha. Thank you for saving the civilized world from the forces of darkness. Access granted. Have a nice day."

Chuck touched the screen, marveling once again at the holograms. If it hadn't been for the whole 'rule-the-world' obsession, Volkoff could have made billions of perfectly legal dollars just with this. What a waste.

His fingers flew through the menus, literally flying through the screens to get to the one he wanted. "Voice identification required."

He plugged in his mother's electronic lockpick, the correct sequence already entered. Burgling was so much easier when you already had the key. "'Death is the solution to all problems.'"

Alarms blared. Chuck stared at Hydra in confusion. _I didn't do it._ _It's not my fault._

Sarah was more responsive. "Casey, what happened?"

"It was me, it was me," said Carina. "Had to zag instead of zig."

Sarah heard sounds through the stethoscope, and went to the inner room. "We've got company."

"I'll draw 'em off you," said Casey.

"We have to go," said Sarah, and Chuck nodded. She went back to the door as he restored the room.

When all was as it had been, he went to join her at the door. "Clear?"

She nodded. "Casey may not like Russians but he can sure swear like one."

Chuck lifted his arm and activated the 'Run Away, Run Away' program, designed to simulate a confused incursion team fleeing in panic. He followed this with the 'Bugout' code, and zipped his sleeve to protect the computer.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, at the other, other incursion…<p>

The attacker listened, but no one came to aid these four. He secured the live ones with quick-ties before gently lifting their target and putting him back into his bed, tucking him up nicely. One of the operatives was stirring, but the attacker kicked him in the head and he stopped.

"Not on my watch," said Showtunes. He pulled out his radio. "Babyface, this is Showtunes. Babyface, please respond."

The radio made a noise. "Go for Babyface."

"I need a pickup, B," said Showtunes. "Garbage and laundry."

"Hit or snatch?" asked Babyface with mild curiosity.

"Snatch. Some guy named Winterbottom."

"Weird name," said Babyface. "I'll send the baby-maker, and alert Ladyfeelings."

Showtunes grimaced. All those kids, and Lilywhite would make him look at all his photos again. Colonel Casey, on the other hand, hadn't been the Janitor called Ladyfeelings for a while, although he stayed close. Once a Janitor, always a Janitor. "This guy has a tag?"

"Since he came in. Ladyfeelings brought us in the loop. Load the bins. Babyface out."

Two by two Showtunes dragged the operatives down the hall and into the chutes–the garbage chute for some and the laundry chute for the others–annoyed because he'd just mopped this floor and now he had to do it again.

* * *

><p>The group reformed under a pier, far from the brightly-lit ship and its agitated contingent. No way anyone was getting back into <em>that<em> hornet's nest.

"Tell me you got it," said Casey.

Chuck unzipped his sleeve, and activated a communications protocol. "Dad, did we get it?"

"We got it, son," said Orion.

"We got it," said Chuck.

"Yeah, we got that," said Carina. "Can we go now?"

"Closing the barn door, Dad," said Chuck into the microphone.

"They're sweeping the woods, son." The usual ports were being monitored. Not the most likely outcome but clearly someone in the British chain of command was a bit paranoid today. "I'm sending you new coordinates."

"What's there?" If the Brits were checking the land ports, maybe they could use a submarine right now.

"I got you a chopper."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2** Because people who save Hartley, stop Volkoff, and capture Hydra _deserve_ choppers.

This chapter has Hartley as Hartley and Hartley as Volkoff, from two different episodes, talking about the same thing. Made my head hurt reconciling it all.

Pingbacks:

Showtunes got a cameo because why not.

The two sticks are from the escrima training he got, thanks to Anna Wu's demonstration back in the previous series (chapter 4 of 'Picking Up the Pieces', as I recall).

Back in 'I Love Terror', Chuck asked a serious question that no one took seriously, but does indeed have a serious answer, which I gave here.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **A short chapter this time. I remember when one of these would have been long.

As I've done before with regard to things like the internal structure of CIA HQ, I'm not going to engage in much research with regard to how the British security services work either. I'm just going to have to make it up and chance looking stupid to those who know better.

* * *

><p>"<em>Let's just say I'm keeping an open mind."<em>

"_Am I that man?"_

"_This is a job for the Piranha!"_

"_I got you a chopper."_

* * *

><p>Outside the American Embassy in Paris…<p>

"There she is." Even over this distance Carina heard the words, yet another sign from a grateful universe that someone else was busy noticing her.

Naturally she noticed them back, three huge Americans standing in a Paris street, rather than safely obscure in their car. "This is tradecraft?" she asked as she approached.

"No," said Casey, popping his door open. "This is three tall people taking any excuse they can get to spend a few minutes not in some tiny car. Only the French would name a car 'The Lemon'."

"We needed a paper trail, Casey," said Chuck, once the doors were closed and they were safely obscure once again, "It's not like a Crown Vic could get through most of these streets anyway."

"Is that why you left those score sheets in the hotel room in London?" Casey really looked forward to Game Night. Chuck had a sheaf of score sheets a couple of inches thick.

"Mm, sort of." The sheets were genuine enough, just not recent. They would also give whoever found them something else to consider.

"You kept the record of my stellar victory, didn't you, Chuckles?" muttered Carina dangerously.

"Oh, that's right, you had one, didn't you," said Sarah dangerously back.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Your legacy is safe. Did you get what you went in for?"

Carina opened her bag and pulled out a sealed box. "Gotten." She handed it back while Casey drove them back to the airport they'd just left.

Chuck split the seal and opened the box. "Okay," he said mainly for Casey's benefit. The big guy couldn't look around and hated to feel left out. "We've got two pairs of sunglasses, a card–" he handed the card to Sarah "–and a note. "Good luck, son. The first location is on the card, just remember to use the glasses in the right order', and thanks for that vote of confidence, Dad."

"So where are we going?" Carina asked Sarah.

Sarah flipped the card over. "Mogadishu."

* * *

><p>The sitting room of Vivian's suite, as much of a throne room as she had at the moment…<p>

"What do you mean, they vanished?" said Vivian harshly. She stayed seated, not through any force of will but simple shock and surprise. Her entire future, the future of Volkoff Industries, rode on the success of these operations. Highly trained mercenaries don't just vanish, not if they wanted to get paid.

"Exactly that, Miss Volkoff," said Riley, knowing when to first-name the boss and when not to. "The team was sent in, they penetrated the outer defense and simply never reappeared."

"Captured?" Interrogated? Not that interrogation would be needed if they were found in her–in _Hartley's_ very room. She really wanted to pace right now but Father warned her to never show weakness in front of subordinates.

"They had to have been," said Riley grumpily. He hated having to play guessing games like this. "I just don't see how. They should have been more than enough to outwit a bunch of rent-a-cops and a janitor, for God's sake."

"I don't suppose 'escaped' is a possibility," said Vivian.

"I doubt it," said Riley unsympathetically. "_Escaped_ armed intruders would have caused more of a fuss. On the other hand, I haven't seen the normal follow-up I'd expect if they were captured, either. It's like they were just…swallowed."

Like her father had been swallowed. Without a trace. "And Agent Charles?" _Please_ let there not be another one like him.

Riley had checked before he came in. Of course she'd ask. "Still out of the country. Last known position was in France, but they were in England just yesterday." He sat down, opened his case, and held up a photo of a ship. "Curiously, there was also a bit of excitement on the Contessa last night."

The lighting was excellent. "Throwing him a party, were they?"

Riley affected to scrutinize the photo again, but he'd read the reports. "With the bright lights, maybe, but the men with dogs don't seem like party favors to me." He flipped it back around. "This is what a detected incursion should look like." Comforting, in a way.

Vivian shook her head. "It wasn't him."

"How do you know?" said Riley, tossing the picture on the desk. "He needs the Hydra as much as you do."

"Because the intruders were _detected_, Mr. Riley," said Vivian, as if that explained everything.

"A probe, then, or a feint, sending in some other group?"

Vivian shrugged. "I suppose it could be," she said. "He is a treacherous bastard." His treachery was the most undetectable thing about him. "We need to get to Hydra without delay."

The directive took Riley by surprise. "Why? We need your Father first."

"If Hartley Winterbottom can be made to channel my father at all, then he can be brought back at any time, Mr. Riley. While I had hoped to control him myself I don't really have to. When my father is restored, even in part, whoever has him will use him to open Hydra. We need to be prepared to take advantage when and if that happens."

"Right," said Riley. "Set up an autocopy, export a backup. That's brilliant!"

She filed the idea away for later. "That may be, Mr. Riley, but it's not my plan. The last thing my father did before he was struck down, was to set up a transmission to a backup location. Once Hydra comes on line that transmission will begin. We need to secure that site."

"So why the incursion?"

"Once the data has been retrieved, we need to prevent anyone else from accessing it. Hydra has to be destroyed."

* * *

><p>In the office of the poor sod investigating the Contessa matter…<p>

"Sir? I think I may have something."

The deputy-deputy didn't look up. "If you do you'll win a prize."

Not a response the agent had ever gotten before. "Sir?"

"Sorry, agent. Been a long day." From very early running on very late, with bugger all to show for it. "Report."

"I was reviewing all the cancelled flight plans for this morning, sir, when my computer shut down on me, some kind of automatic update."

"I hate those."

"Yes, sir. When my system came up again, I noticed that the number of records seemed to be different, sir, so I compared it with a hardcopy I had, for notetaking purposes."

"Ha! A paperless office, indeed."

"Yes, sir. I determined that shortly after the so-called incursion, a new flight plan was laid on, but to the west. Bristol."

"Bristol Airport? That's in Somerset, isn't it?"

"I believe so, sir."

"Point of origin?"

"A private strip outside of London, sir. Supposedly on behalf of the Yard."

"Supposedly?" Good word, that.

"They have no record of the flight, the officers for whom it was arranged, or the operation in which they were taking part."

"Which were?"

"A…Detective Parsons and a Sergeant Vickers, liaising with two American operatives on a drug-related matter."

"Americans? Not likely. Where's this pilot now?"

"Deadheading it back, sir."

"Good. Question him when he arrives, see if you can track these alleged officers here in London. I'll have a team in Bristol try to track these people from there. Excellent work, Agent. What's your name, I'll put it in my report."

"It's…Barker, sir."

* * *

><p>Somewhere in Mogadishu...<p>

Casey looked out the hole in the wall at the sound of gunfire. The night was dark, broken only here and there by fires burning, more for light and destruction than for warmth. This part of Africa was near the ocean and pretty close to the equator, but not especially humid for all that. The desert was coming but the people had no place to go. "Are we sure this pirate guy still has the component?"

"Reasonably," said Chuck, pulling a shirt on over his body armor. "Elyas Abshir is addicted to gambling, but he's also overly proud of his collection of trophies. I don't think he'll let something he took from Volkoff go lightly."

"Remember that when you try to take it from him, you know he's gonna try to pull a fast one."

"That's why I'm going in with him, Casey," said Carina, dressed to kill, if necessary. "No one's faster than me, although I didn't mean that quite like it sounded."

"We know how you meant it," snarked Sarah. "You know I should be going in with you?" she asked her husband.

Chuck shook his head, brushing a finger across her lips. "I don't want the world-famous spy team of Bartowski and Bartowski to ever get mistaken for 'that lovely couple playing with their two kids in the park.'"

She grabbed his collar and kissed him firmly. "You promised me twenty."

"With that many you'll have your own baseball team," said Carina. She smiled until they turned and stared at her. "Crap, you're serious."

"Yes, I'm serious," said Sarah, "So you'd better take good care of my husband."

Carina raised three fingers.

"You were never a scout," said Casey.

"Read between the lines," said Carina sweetly, and dropped the outer two fingers.

* * *

><p>Somewhere else in Mogadishu...<p>

"Twenty?" said Carina when they were a good distance away. "How'd you talk her into that?"

"You've got it backward," said Chuck. "She's the one who pushed for it."

"Now I've really got to hear the story."

"She'd kill me." Or Casey would.

"Oh, come _on_, Chuck," she said with a pout. "You know if you don't tell me I'm just gonna have to pester you, and you know how much I hate to do that." She clasped his arm. "Let's make a deal. If I win in there, you have to tell me."

"What do I get if I win?"

"You'll be allowed to tell me. See, it's fair."

"Carina, you've won one whole game after how many at-bats?"

She smirked in triumph, and pulled his arm, dragging him toward Abshir's compound. "That was before I had incentive."

* * *

><p>Getting into the compound wasn't at all difficult, just push open the door and step over the last guy who tried to leave. "I'm looking for Elyas Abshir," said Chuck loudly.<p>

A tall, thin man pushed his way to the front. "I am Abshir."

Chuck made a signal, and Carina kicked the man until he was down. "No, you're not," said Chuck to the unconscious lout. "Abshir is a pirate, a thief, a braggart, and a bully. He'd never come out just because someone told him to."

A laughing man pushed his way to the front. "Very good, my tall friend. You win the first game. I am Abshir."

"And I…am here to acquire the Norseman tracking device that you took from Alexei Volkoff."

Suddenly lots of men pointed guns at them, and Abshir wasn't smiling anymore. "Volkoff is dead," he said. "That makes the tracker priceless."

Chuck shook his head. "That makes it available."

Abshir looked over Chuck's shoulder at his woman, an insult. "Who is the violent woman? I might have a use for her."

"She's my bodyguard. Heard you had a decent buffet and decided to tag along." Chuck lowered his voice. "You might want to be careful how you talk about her. I want the tracker, not a bloodbath."

Abshir sneered at him. "A bloodbath?"

"She was in Thailand recently." Technically true. Chuck could work with that. "You ever been to Thailand, Elyas?"

The legends had come to him, larger with every retelling. "_I_ heard that was a blonde."

"And _she's_ heard of hair dye," said Chuck. "Name. Your. Terms."

Abshir circled Chuck like a shark. "Pick a game. Dice, roulette, cards. If you win, the tracker is yours. You lose, you die."

"Now that you mention it, we do have a favorite game," said Chuck. He turned to Carina. "Don't we?"

* * *

><p>Somewhere in England…<p>

The deputy-deputy slammed the few scraps of paper that had so far made it to the surface onto his desk. "_Canasta?_ You're telling me America's top agent and three friends sat here under our bloody noses for nine hours and played canasta?"

"It could have been any Rummy variant, sir, but canasta seemed the most likely–"

"Shut it!" said the boss. "Do we have anything, anything at all, connecting this team to what happened on the Contessa?"

Nobody was willing to say 'No' directly, but heads shook all around.

"Fine," he said, but everyone knew it wasn't fine. "Keep at it. Someone send me Barker."

* * *

><p>Back in Mogadishu, many hands later...<p>

"Out," said Carina. Again.

"Woman, you are _on fire_ tonight," said Chuck. He started counting up. Although this hand had clinched the game for her, he still had to beat Abshir to claim his trophy.

"I told you, it's the incentive."

Abshir threw down his cards, conceding the victory. Making a stink about it would only make the event more memorable. Besides, the game wasn't over yet. He eyed the redhead appreciatively. "I can imagine your incentive, " he said to Chuck, "But what is hers?"

Chuck surged up, tipping over the table, knocking his host and the box he sat on to the ground. Before Abshir could move a knife pierced his sleeve, trapping his gun hand, and Chuck had a knee on Abshir's chest and a fist raised. "You have the manners of a goat. Now apologize to the lady and give me my prize."

Elyas lay there, confused. The man was insane! Now he had to die, nothing else would do. Why would anyone risk so much over a woman? "Uh, okay?" He looked at Carina. "Sorry?"

Carina flicked her fingers–_Whatever–_and Chuck let him up.

"As for your prize…" said the pirate, walking over to a large tent. He pulled aside the flap, blinding his guests with a golden glow from all the bright lights and shiny objects. "You have one minute to find it and come out."

* * *

><p>The light was blinding, the objects all the same shape and size. Chuck got out his sunglasses.<p>

* * *

><p>"Your employer is a good card player," said Elyas, as Carina took up a watchful position by the flap.<p>

"And you're a good cheater," she said. "Or you would be if I'd let you get away with it."

"No matter." Elyas signaled, and several armed men came to the front. "Soon he will be dead," he said, pointing his pistol at Carina, "And I will put you to a better use."

Someone shot the gun from his hand, and all eyes turned toward the gate. Casey stood there, a pistol in each hand and a machine gun slung around his neck. "Give it up boys," he said calmly. "I'm just the one you can see."

Someone moved, and someone who wasn't Casey shot him.

A strong arm wrapped around Elyas' throat and a hard object pressed against his back. "You die first, no matter what," said Chuck, and Elyas gestured his men to stand down. Chuck pulled his host around to 'escort' them to the door. Casey and Carina went through first, and then Chuck stopped just inside. He pushed Abshir away and closed the door behind him as he stepped back.

A firm hand grabbed Chuck by the collar, as Casey steered him around to chase after Carina. "We have to get under cover now!"

"No we don't," said Chuck.

Casey wasn't having any. "Move it, Bartowski!" Machine-gun fire broke out behind them, and he pushed even harder. Only once they were in the shadows on the other side of the street did he relent, turning to check their six.

No one was there. "What?"

"Elyas Abshir was beaten, shamed, wounded, and disarmed in front of a crowd of armed men, Casey," said Chuck. "He's a bleeding shark in a feeding frenzy. Believe me, he's got bigger fish to fry than us."

"You got it, though, right?" asked Sarah over the comm.

Chuck stuck out his hand, revealing the 'muzzle' he'd stuck in Abshir's back was nothing of the sort. "Right where I expected it to be, just outside the hidden rear flap of the tent."

Carina grabbed Chuck by the collar and pulled him in for a long, hard, and thorough kiss.

"Great job, Chuck," said Sarah. "Chuck? Chuck? Casey, what happened to Chuck?"

Casey turned to look at the train wreck. "Um…"

"Carina?" said Sarah in an edged voice. "What's that noise?"

Carina broke the kiss, and pushed Chuck away. "Thank you for defending my honor in there," she said with tears in her eyes. "I've never felt like I had any honor worth defending before."

"Someone needs a hug…"

"Chuck!" snapped Sarah right in his ear.

"I didn't say from me," said Chuck, stepping back quickly. "But sweetie, if you really do want to kill something, I happened to leave my watch in Abshir's trophy tent. I'm sure there's a Navy ship somewhere around here that wouldn't mind a target."

Something animalistic came over the comm. with the word 'Beckman' in it.

"Okay, everybody, move out, and let's try to keep it professional." Casey cocked a grin at the sounds of mayhem. "Thank you, Mogadishu, and good night!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN2** Oh, Carina, what is happening to you?

Well, to be honest, having read all the chapters of 'Becoming', I like the Sarah-Carina dynamic there, so my view of her is changing a bit.


	4. Twenty Questions

**A/N ** Part one of the finale is done.

* * *

><p>"<em>There she is."<em>

"_You promised me twenty."_

"_Give me my prize."_

"_Thank you for defending my honor."_

* * *

><p>Casey examined the two components, sliding them together. "So where are we going, Bartowski?" he asked, as the pieces clicked into place. "A fueled jet, a midnight flight." He set the assembly on the table with a thump. "You're playing things a little too close to the vest for my liking."<p>

Chuck settled into the chair opposite, to enjoy a well-earned glass of soda. "You know what they say about playing things close to the vest, Casey?" He raised a brow at Casey's bafflement. "Wear a coat over the vest, otherwise you look like a jerk."

"Is that right?"

"I'd look like a cold, frozen jerk, actually, since we're going to a military bunker in the Swiss Alps." Chuck picked up the TV remote.

Casey looked a shade more cheerful. Must have been the word 'military'. "I thought we just left that party."

"Same mountains, different country. Too bad Dad didn't send us this location first, but I can see where he couldn't."

Casey nudged the assembled pieces, basically a grip and a scope. "Let me guess, the bullets."

Chuck glanced at the parts, but didn't try to touch them. "Well, whatever that thing uses for bullets, but yeah. Not something Volkoff left right on top." He jerked upright in his chair. "Hey, Avatar!"

Bullets for the world's deadliest weapon, and he's going on about crappy movie retreads. "You're being awfully 'cool' about this, Bartowski. Wanna clue me in?"

Right. Mission. Chuck turned off the TV, and put down the remote. "Doesn't it seem odd to you that a man like Volkoff would have a weapon like this, and split it up? Never use it?"

"Mmm." Apparently not. "You think it's not the superweapon Vivian told us it was?"

"Or that if Volkoff was afraid to use it, there's a pretty good reason."

"Not cheering me up here, Bartowski. Not everybody's smart enough to be scared when they oughtta be."

Chuck looked aft, at the closed bedroom door his wife and her best friend had been hiding behind, the entire flight. "Some people are."

* * *

><p>"How do you stand it?" asked Carina. Her voice trembled as much as her hands, and Sarah felt both, sitting hand-in-hand and knee-to-knee on the room's only piece of furniture, a bed that could be made to serve as a sofa.<p>

She'd been prepared to tear strips off of Carina for the clearly-audible kiss, but her friend's terror was genuine, and not Chuck-related. She'd been high as a kite when she kissed Chuck, an elation Sarah knew all too well. After the high had come a quick low, an emotional rollercoaster that Sarah also recognized. "I don't know," she said. "I don't know what you're feeling, no one can except you."

"I don't even know," said Carina. "I've never felt like this."

Sarah stared down at their joined hands. "Like all your life your soul was in a box, in a castle of ice, and one day some idiot blundering fool melts the castle and breaks open the box."

Ice. _So cold._ "Yes! Yes. What do I do?"

"I'll tell you what you don't do," said Sarah. "You don't try to shove your soul back in that box. You don't try to act as if anything you knew yesterday means anything today. I tried all of that, it doesn't work. Just hold on to that fool for all you're worth. I did that, too. The one thing I did right."

"No," said Carina definitively. Sarah did everything right.

"Lie down," said Sarah, and Carina obeyed without protest. Sarah tucked her up, snagging her cell phone in the process.

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," Sarah said, stroking Carina's red hair. "No one should have to discover their soul all at once. I had Graham and Beckman, pushing on the box, keeping it from letting all of me out. Not sure if that was better. Looking at you now I think maybe it was."

"Looking at you then I'd rather be me now," said Carina, teeth chattering. "You went through hell."

Going through Hell was the only thing they were allowed to do together. "You have to, to get to Heaven."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you want to do this, ma'am?" asked Mr. Carmichael, driving his mistress to the meet.<p>

"I've never been surer of anything in my life, Mr. Carmichael," said Vivian. "No one can be allowed to have my father's legacy except me, his designated heir."

"But, destroying the ship–?"

She sighed. "Not my first choice, but whatever bungling strike team tried to take Hydra from me earlier has made any less-drastic solution impossible. They'll be on guard, now. The internal sensor net will be changed. I have no other choice."

"But, Ma'am, won't your father be on the ship when it sinks?"

Vivian almost smiled. It was too funny. Agent Charles' doppelganger, pleading for mercy for that _thing_ walking around in her father's body. For a second she thought of Hartley, his gentle compassion as he held her hand. _I'm so sorry for your loss,_ or words to that effect_._

Her loss. What did he know of her loss? He _was_ her loss, not some woman she never knew. Angrily, she took that image, that memory, and shoved it into an airless chamber at the bottom of her soul. "An unfortunate accident," she said. The irony pleased her. Alexei Volkoff's body and the creature inside it, destroyed by her father's own munitions.

"Yes, ma'am," said Mr. Carmichael obediently, keeping his unhappiness to himself. Not for the first time, he considered a return to Macau, where he knew what was what, and who was who.

* * *

><p>He had only to hear Sarah's voice over Carina's phone to know that something was wrong. "What happened to her?"<p>

Sarah smiled, pleased that he was so quick on the uptake. "You did, Mr. Davis," she said quietly, the boys asleep in their chairs in the main cabin. "My question to you is, what are you going to do about it?"

* * *

><p>"How may I help you?"<p>

Specialist Blakely hated his job. He didn't used to. He was never exactly thrilled with it, but being in the military kept him out of trouble, and getting into trouble was the only thing he was better at than cracking into sophisticated electronic security systems and tinkering with whatever was behind them. People take that kind of thing personally.

Needless to say, the government was thrilled they had someone with his talents on hand when a prize like the Contessa dropped into their laps. This rig had some crackerjack security. It barely even noticed he was there, just enough to reroute the signal and go back to sleep. He felt like a hotel guest, waiting for service while the manager and all his staff were watching their favorite show on the telly. He'd ring the bell and they'd move it, to still the noise.

Until last night. Something was different, he wasn't exactly sure how, but he was able to follow the rabbit back into its hole. He managed to wake up the HMI, but he didn't tell anybody. Not officially, that is. He appreciated a pat on the back and a 'well done' as much as the next man, but he liked cash better.

He had a few new tools with him today, and a fat bonus waiting, if only he could get this stupid machine to stop trying to help! "You can tell me who programmed you." Not too many people in the world could have done this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Did you say 'who cabined blue'?"

"Was it the Jackal then? The Octopus?" Nigel doubted it. Not their style at all, too harmless. There was a man who would do this, but he was a joker, not a thief. He'd never done a job like this before. "The Piranha, maybe?"

His screen blipped. Not much but when the line has been stubbornly flat all day a little bump can be huge. "The Piranha?" he asked again. Blip. "Bloody hell," he said to himself. "This is a Piranha job."

Blip blip. Nigel smiled. "Oh, I've got you now, darlin'."

* * *

><p>"Everybody set, then?"<p>

The other men in the boat nodded, not much for chatter, a quality the leader appreciated as much as he liked their diving and munitions skills.

"It's a long way with no cover," muttered one. "Still wish we could use a DPD."

"They make noise, Thomkins," said the leader shortly. "No one wants that ship dead except the lady what hired us, so all we need to do is not draw attention to ourselves–"

"And plant the mines," said another guy, as a helpful reminder.

"And not get blown up," said a fourth, with a grin.

The leader poked Thomkins in the chest. "See what you started? Next time you want something, you can go get it while we do the job and keep all the money, eh? Right lads, let's hop to, and we'll all be down at the pub in an hour."

They all fitted their mouthpieces and fell backwards with a splash.

* * *

><p>Julian Barker raised a hand for silence, all the way down there in the dark and cold at the bottom of the ship. "Did you hear that?"<p>

The able seaman escorting him sniffed. "Y'hear a lot of things down here," he said. "It's a ship, y'know? Even at anchor the sea still moves."

"I'm aware that this is a ship," said Barker, faintly nauseated by the rolling motion of the vessel, or perhaps by the smell of oil down here belowdecks.

"Probably just your mate down the other end," said the sailor, accepting that the SIS guy had heard something at all. "That nutter in the cold room, shouting at the machines." His eyes lit up. "Or maybe a bottle of rum from some pirate's chest, rolling about."

"Perhaps a note, some shipwrecked unfortunate, hoping for rescue," said Barker, getting into it. He flashed his torch around the machine room, seeing no one and nothing, just as there ought to be. A waste of time, like he'd thought, but after two days without incident, Command was just as eager to draw down their forces here as he was to be drawn down. Let someone else be the boss' right hand. He'd gladly do a final check as long as it was a _final_ check.

"Here," said the sailor, shining his own torch elsewhere. "Whassat?"

* * *

><p>Diane Beckman closed her eyes. "Were there any casualties?" That was the hardest part of this job, lives lost protecting a rook, especially when it was just a pawn in disguise.<p>

"Three," said the Minister on the other end of the call. "An SIS man and his escort, and…a computer tech, in the room with the Hydra itself."

Above her pay grade. If anything was a cue to change the subject, that was. "Do you know what happened?"

He breathed a sigh of relief at her discretion. "Some sort of scuttling charge, I would imagine. Now that S&R is over, the divers will be looking into the cause. We'll keep you informed."

* * *

><p>Vivian wanted to scream, but that would be even more a sign of weakness than pacing. "What went wrong?"<p>

"We don't know," said Riley. "The ship sank as planned, but there is no data in the backup location. Hydra is lost."

"Leaving me with nothing."

"Well, not _nothing_, Miss Volkoff. You have your fortune, and there is still the Norseman."

"The Norseman was a red herring, meant to keep Agent Charles out of our way while we went after the real prize."

"It may be a prize on its own, and it's certainly the only color of herring you've got."

Vivian never thought she'd say this. "Where's Agent Charles now?"

* * *

><p>"Are you sure this is the right Swiss bunker?" asked Casey, looking at the hole in the mountain through his binoculars. "I don't see anything like a trap or an ambush, nothing that screams 'Volkoff' about it."<p>

"He _does_ have a style," said Chuck. "Did have a style."

"His mind was twisted," said Sarah. "Your mother said so, and I have to agree with her."

"I wish we hadn't lost Miller," said Casey. A very tired and bedraggled Officer Davis had appeared on the tarmac at the airport, and Carina had walked away from the team and into his embrace without a word. When last seen they were still attached to each other.

"Carina should be halfway to Dreyfus by now," said Sarah, assuming Beckman did as she said, usually a safe assumption.

"Good for her," said Casey. "Can't divide the team now."

Chuck shrugged. "Don't want to. This place has no human guards anyway, and no one else knows we're here."

Sarah winced. "Chuck…"

"What?"

Casey smacked him in the head, and Sarah didn't object. "Way to live dangerously, Bartowski."

* * *

><p>"Would you like to play a game?" said the computer, as Chuck took the seat before the chess board.<p>

Casey watched the sequence of moves, faster than he liked to play himself. "I hope you know what you're doing, Bartowski."

"I just hope you're ready," said Chuck.

"I was born ready."

Sarah winced. "Casey…"

"What?"

"Sarah, I'm kind of busy here, could you whack him upside the head for me, please?" Chuck didn't look up, but he heard the 'Ow!'. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>Sarah watched her husband take back his bad move, heard his sudden whimper. "What's the matter, Chuck?"<p>

"I'm losing it!" He looked up at his wife, up at the big guns with all those bullets. Overkill, really. Typical Volkoff. "I can't play like him, no one can."

"Why not?" said Casey with a shrug.

"He's the world's biggest badass, Casey!"

"He's a computer program," said Casey. "And you're a computer. Inside that noggin of yours is Hydra, the life's work of the world's greatest criminal mastermind. His goals, his plans." Because Alexei Volkoff didn't have hopes and dreams like normal people. "_Be_ him."

"Be him?"

"Yes, be the man whose name strikes fear into the heart of friend and foe alike," said Sarah. "Who is that man? Who are you?"

"Alexei Volkoff," said Chuck.

"Say it again, and sell it this time," said Sarah. "_Now_, Chuck."

Chuck flashed. "I…am…Alexei Volkoff," he said, his voice sinking into a growl. A happy growl. "Killer of men, conqueror of nations!"

"Uh, I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves here," said Sarah.

"Yeah, Chuck," said Casey, "Just play the game already."

Six brilliantly aggressive and treacherous moves later…

"Ha!" yelled Chuck triumphantly. "Checkmate."

Casey slapped a pair of sunglasses over his face. "Good game, Alexei. _Do Svedanya_." He looked at Sarah as she moved in to support her husband. "See? I told you I was ready."

* * *

><p>Inside the clear acrylic box stood a component not very different from the one they'd taken from the Somali pirate just hours before.<p>

"Is that what all the fuss is about?"

Chuck scanned the room, the doorway. "Yup."

"Well, let's go get it," said Casey.

"The room would kill us. It's like everything Stanley Fitzroy ever made, rolled into one, and keyed to Volkoff's DNA."

"So how do we get past it?" said Sarah in a voice of complete faith.

"You don't," said a voice behind them, as guns cocked menacingly. "I do."

* * *

><p>Chuck turned, hands raised. "Vivian MacArthur?"<p>

"Vivian Volkoff," she snapped back. "My father's heir. A Queen without a country, thanks to you."

"This was a setup?" said Casey as his gun was taken away from him yet again.

"Of course not," said Vivian as she watched her men secure the area. "Agent Charles would have seen through that immediately. This was supposed to be a wild goose chase like Macau, something to keep you busy while I secured my father's legacy."

"No wonder the data had no picture. You sent it."

Vivian smirked at him. "You diminished my enemies very effectively, Agent Charles. Bravo. You also locked off Hydra, kept it from me, and the Contessa was scuttled. My father's life's work, lost forever."

"That wasn't _my_ plan," said Chuck.

"It was your mother's," said Sarah sheepishly. "She said she'd end things even if she had to scuttle the ship to do it. She never had a chance to remove the charges…"

Chuck closed his eyes. "Good plan, mom."

"Fitting," said Vivian. "The mother of the man who destroyed my father, destroyed me. But all is not lost." She pointed into the room. "The Norseman is the most dangerous weapon in the world. Once I have that, I can take someone else's country as my own. Up against the wall." Once they were out of her way she sauntered past, took a swab and placed it in her mouth before inserting it into the slot.

"The room is keyed to your DNA too?"

"Of course," said Vivian. "What I couldn't do was outplay that chess computer out there, so–" she dusted her hands off lightly "–thanks for that. In."

Inside the room they could only watch as Vivian opened the box and removed the component. "It's useless without the rest," said Sarah.

"I have the plans for those," said Vivian absently as she lifted the device. "What I don't have is this." She turned away from them all and headed for the exit.

"Vivian, don't do this," said Chuck as her minions placed charges around the room. "You're not this person."

"I know, but it's the only person I've got left," said Vivian. "You don't know me. You will never know me."

Chuck knew enough. Without another word he lashed out and disarmed his minion, by the simple tactic of making him unconscious. Sarah and Casey followed suit, but Vivian ran away faster than they could fight their way through. The door lit with a lattice of laser beams, too closely spaced to allow anyone out, except in pieces. "You've taken still more from me, Agent Charles. Never again. Those plasma grenades are impossible to defuse."

"Vivian, please," Chuck yelled after her as she left them to die.

"Chuck, forget her!" yelled Sarah.

"She hates me," said Chuck.

"Head in the game, Bartowski!"

"We've got ten seconds."

Chuck transformed with a shiver. No more head-banging, no more self-recriminations. He reached inside his vest, and brought out three knives. With Intersect accuracy he threw the knives and pierced one of the cylinders on three of the plasma grenades. He ran to Casey's position, taking the knife from his hand and slicing away the section of wall behind the last grenade with four quick strokes. He grabbed the section before it could fall and threw it out into the hall between the lasers. "Up against the wall!"

The grenade exploded, a column of intense heat flaring into the room, melting the laser emitters, incinerating the pedestal and acrylic box. The three humans were safe against the wall, protected by the rock of the cave.

"Chuck," said Sarah once the chaos ended. "What did you do? How did you know that would work?" She looked the broken grenades, the knives rotting away under the caustic chemicals.

"I didn't," said Chuck, coughing from the fumes. "Vivian may have turned evil, but she's a terrible liar. She said they were impossible to defuse, so I broke them instead."

"Great job, genius," said Casey, staring at the melted section of floor, the glowing walls of the tunnel. "Meanwhile she's getting away at a nice slow stroll. How long do you think it'll be before we can get out of here?"

Chuck turned to glare at his partner. "Perhaps you'd like that explosive back in our cell, your highness."

* * *

><p>"What do you need from Hartley, Chuck?" asked Dreyfus.<p>

"Vivian's got the Norseman. We need to know if he's aware of anything we can do to stop it."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Chuck," said Dreyfus, his voice final. "It wouldn't help in any case. He's been quite traumatized by his experience as Volkoff, even more so by his daughter. His mind refuses to revisit those memories. I'm sorry."

* * *

><p>Back at the lab, a few days later…<p>

"Do you really think this will help, Chuck?" asked Sarah, sitting at Ellie's desk while Ellie ran the upload from the booth. "You nearly lost it the last time."

"You _told _me to lose it the last time, Sarah," said Chuck, locked in the Intersect room again. "I think without the machine guns pointed at us I can keep the upload in check."

"Don't be so sure of that, little brother," said Ellie. "The upload you got from the glasses was a small dataset, the best we could do at the time. This will be much bigger."

"Great, sis, thanks for telling me now."

"Upload commencing."

* * *

><p>When the alert went off, everyone responded in record time, except for Carina, on therapeutic leave. "What do you have to report, Mr. Bartowski?" asked the General.<p>

It was like Old Home Week in the Intersect lab, all the faces gathered on the big monitor, with Beckman dominating the screen as always. "The Hydra files had a great deal more information on the Norseman, General, but the technical files on the killing component have been redacted."

"So we're still in the dark?"

"No, ma'am," said Chuck. "The technical data is gone, but the functional documents are still in the Omega folder."

Casey asked the obvious question on his General's behalf. "What's that, Bartowski?"

"It's a file of weapons that Alexei Volkoff considered too dangerous to use but too useful to be destroyed, Casey."

"A weapon of last resort," said Sarah.

"Literally, Sarah," said Chuck. "The footnote on the disposition order says 'it destroys the user' in Volkoff's own handwriting."

"How effective is it, Bartowski?"

"One hundred percent, in the lab." Certain death for someone, and they all knew who her first target would be.

"So killing you would kill her?"

"Vivian's a vengeful psychopath, General. I don't think the blowback's would stop her, even if she knew about it."

"Don't worry, Chuck," said Sarah. "I will."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2** Hartley's useless and Vivian's merciless. Not quite the cliffhanger I was aiming for, but a psycho carrying the Ultimate Nullifier is nothing to sneeze at.


End file.
